


love/nero

by lazy_universes



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Femwatch Zine!, PWP, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 10:15:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16216940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazy_universes/pseuds/lazy_universes
Summary: "I do not believe you have an auditory problem,” Widow said, dryly. “You heard what I said. WIll you do it or not?”“Take you to bed?” Sombra said, shaking her head in disbelief, and pointed to the bed frame awkwardly hanging next to a wall, looking almost sad with the how it folded slightly in the middle. “I’d love to, corazón, but thanks to you I kinda don’t have a bed anymore.”“Do it on the floor, then.”Sombra choked.Widow arched an eyebrow.





	love/nero

**Author's Note:**

> i legit have nothing to say for myself, here's some more porn 
> 
> Song of the fic: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qeO5EBBCPm0 (if you speak portuguese listen with earphones on)

 

_ Lit up a cigarette _

_ Doused us in gasoline _ _   
_ _ And said: am I your love or your Nero? _

_ Am I your love or your Nero? _

_ I’m patient but there’s shit I can’t wait for _

  
  


_ medianoche _

 

The moonlight on her skin made her look like a damned Avatar, but she’d never say so because Sombra liked her brains right where they were, thank you, and besides, when fucking Widowmaker was spread on her bed, heaving, chest rising and falling out of rhythm and licking her lips in anticipation, one had more to think of than last-century-kitsch-cinema-references - she was sure Widow would get it because she was smart like that, fucking smart cookie with a body so amazing it made her believe in God; she had imagined this for so long, she could barely believe her senses as she ran her hands up her thighs with so much adoration it was probably the closest she ever got to a prayer-

“Are you high?” Widow asked. 

“As a kite,” Sombra smirked. Two pills as blue as her skin right under her tongue and she could be seeing rainbow elephants parading around her bed for all she knew - and yet all she could see was Widow spread open on her bed like a damned feast, and she had been  _ starving- _

“Years wishing you could get in my pants and when you do you’re fucking  _ wasted _ ,” Widow threw her head back, black hair spreading around the pillowcase like a dark halo.

“Shut up,” she said, blushing. 

“I was hoping you would make me,” she said, smirking. 

Sombra was proud to say she did.

  
  
  


_ mediodia _

 

Her bed was broken, and she realized with absolute horror she knew  _ exactly _ how that had happened. 

“ _ Que me coman los demonios, _ ” she cursed, scratching her head. Her scalp was sore -  _ someone _ had pulled on her hair like she wanted to see her bald, probably the same someone who had left the colorful collection of purple marks all over her neck, thighs and waist - it looked like she had one extreme session of that massage with cups. Fire cupping? Whatever - She never took Widowmaker of all people as someone who went to town on someone else’s skin, but then again, she wasn’t exactly sure Widowmaker even got laid to begin with, and look at how _ that _ ended up. 

“How the fuck am I even going to take this out-” she said, raising the mattress pitifully. She had made a point of buying the best fucking bed she could buy, but never really thought about the possibility she’d have to remove it on her own. She sighed, leaning on the opposite wall and fishing for her cigarettes on the nightstand, lighting one absently. She licked her lips. It wasn’t  _ so _ bad - it was mostly the frame that was as good as gone, and she could make do with a king-sized mattress on the floor until she could buy a new one - but the process of getting the damned thing  _ out _ was what concerned her the most. 

It wouldn’t even fit in the damned elevator. What a  _ great _ time to live in a penthouse. 

“ _ Estoy pero si bien pendeja, no, _ ” she cursed once more, sighing, before throwing her cigarette butt off the window and getting to work. 

  
  
  


It took her three hours and fifteen floors worth of staircases, but she finally got the bed frame next to the building’s trash. She seriously considered throwing herself on the bin as well, because she was as good as garbage - drenched in sweat, still reeking of sex, hair a nest wrapped in a messy bun, neck looking like she had wrestled with an octopus. Sombra leaned on the frame and sighed. How did her week even end up like that was a mystery - the day before, at that time, she had been watching reruns of Say Yes to the Dress eating takeout burritos. 

It was the first she had been home in weeks. Talon had a specific infiltration/elimination mission that required her and Widowmaker to be on a stakeout together for what had been almost a month, with occasional cigarette and food breaks because unlike the Assassin, Sombra still had physiological needs, thank you, and would like to see them met. Besides, they were in Hungary, it was cold, and she thought she could use the time to get laid. 

She was dead wrong. 

There was no time to even get off on her own, and being close to Widow - who had absolutely no sense of decency and wouldn’t think twice before parading in her birthday suit in front of a very lesbian, very much sighted poor latina Mexican hacker - was the textbook definition of psychological torture. Sombra would know. She was in a fucking  _ gang. _

By the end of the month, Talon had its intel, Widow had her kill, and Sombra had what she was sure was the hardest case of blue balls in someone who didn’t even have balls to begin with, and the only way she could survive without going insane with lust and want was flirting her way out of every conversation she had with the Assassin.

She flirted a lot, that was what she was saying. 

And yet, the most she could get out of her was a scoff and a “wouldn’t it be a pity if I accidentally fired my gun while it was pointed to you” - which got her the clear impression Widow thought she was joking; she was, of course, but only kinda, because if Widow ever even thought something along the lines of “let’s do this then”, Sombra would bet her firstborn and her pinky toe that she’d already be in bed with no clothes on. There was an inch or two (or a mile) of truth in her flirting, which gave her a grand total of 0% help in getting more comfortable with the situation.

When she finally got out of that pitfire of repressed sexual desire and need, Sombra was focused on getting laid. Urgently. She had a quick lunch and decided on going hunting on a local high-end club; when she was halfway through getting ready, however, MDMA pills safely lodged under her tongue, Widowmaker herself knocked on her door - and all but demanded to be fucked. 

“I beg your pardon?” She had said, almost choking on her saliva. 

“What you heard,” Widow said. She was wearing a knitted turtleneck and jeans that, albeit conservative, emphasised that Sombra very much knew what was hidden underneath, and she keened. 

“I, um. I mean, yeah, but. Um-”

“Spill it.”

“Why the  _ fuck-” _ Sombra said, stunned. It was one thing to flirt with someone she knew she had no chance with - it was something completely different when they knocked on your door claiming the sex you had technically promised them. 

It was, she would like to add, also something else when said someone could kill you with her eyebrows. 

Beautiful, beautiful eyebrows. Very well drawn. 

“You said you would be willing,” she said, emptily, “And I would like to test something.”

“Test- something. Um-”

“I could go, if you are not interested,” Widow said, waving towards the elevator. 

“Oh God please don’t” Sombra mumbled, stepping aside from her door. “Can I, um- Can I get you anything? A drink?”

“Sex,” Widow said, “ _ Ça va bien?” _

Sombra was, although very much in shock, happy to oblige. 

But that was the thing, she thought, pulling herself back to reality and away from the whirlwind of memories, absently lighting up another cigarette, that was the thing. She never really got the chance to know what was even Widow trying to prove - she woke up the next morning to an empty (broken) bed and no trace whatsoever of the woman if not for the long strands of black hair hidden in her crumpled sheets. Sombra wasn’t really against being sexually used with her consent, but figured she at least could know what exactly was she being used for.

“That’s gonna be some fun debriefings from now on,” she thought out loud, burying her hands into her pockets. For all the mental hard-ons she’d get, she was lucky she barely ever saw Widowmaker - they rarely worked together and had very different purposes within Talon, but damn if that wasn’t some life-ruining sex. 

_ Fuck, _ she thought, rubbing her eyes. She needed a shower. And food. But she couldn’t get food before she got a shower, and yet she was hungry and there was nothing in her pantry-

She was halfway through solving her little impasse when she heard something move behind her. 

“What the-” she yelped, turning on her heels to see Widowmaker herself breathing down her neck. “ _ Hija de puta, desgraciada, ¿quiere matarme? _ ” She wheezed, hand clutching the fabric of her shirt over her heart. Widow didn’t even blink - she twisted her mouth into something that could very much be fondness or distaste, and Sombra wasn’t anywhere near emotion-savvy enough to differentiate the two. 

“What you did yesterday,” she said, flatly, “I need you to do it again.”

Sombra figured even though she was fluent in some three or four languages, and even though she could hack and have access to pretty much every information in the world just by thinking about it, there were no words that could express the amount of shock and disbelief that ran through her mind. 

“ _ What?” _ She yelped, “What the  _ fuck _ ?”

“I do not believe you have an auditory problem,” Widow said, dryly. “You heard what I said. WIll you do it or not?”

“Take you to bed?” Sombra said, shaking her head in disbelief, and pointed to the bed frame awkwardly hanging next to a wall, looking almost sad with the how it folded slightly in the middle. “I’d love to,  _ corazón _ , but thanks to you I kinda don’t have a bed anymore.”

“Do it on the floor, then.”

Sombra choked. 

Widow arched an eyebrow. 

“You are funny,” she said, absently quirking her head to the side. “You spent a month telling me you would like to have sex with me. When I want you, you act like you don’t even know what sex is, let alone how to have it.”

Sombra threw the cigarette butt on the ground and crunched it with her heel, pinching her nose. It wasn’t that cold in Mexico City, but Widow had a beautiful navy-blue coat going on, wrapped with an elegant scarf. You could take the girl out of France but couldn’t really take the France out of the girl, she figured, because she was always dressed impeccably. 

“I don’t know how to explain to you how- weird it is for someone who offhandedly and casually comments on killing you suddenly coming on your front door and say ‘Hey, let’s bang!’. And breaks your bed,” she added, as an afterthought. “And then comes back wanting more. Run this situation from my perspective and tell me if it isn’t a little weird.”

Widow was silent. 

“Besides,” she carried on, nervously, “You keep popping up and disappearing like a damned  _ ghost _ . Forgive my superstitious ass for being a little wary.”

“So this means I should go,” Widow said. 

“Oh dear Jesus  _ no _ ,” Sombra amended, quickly. “No, please don’t. I very much want to have sex with you. A couple times. Maybe more? You just need to give me time to settle the idea on my mind.”

“And a shower. Definitely some time to shower,” she added, wryly, and Sombra frowned indignantly. 

“If I smell it’s your fault,” she said, stubbornly. “Wanna go up?”

  
  
  
  


“If we are going to do this, I need some ground rules,” Sombra said, toweling her hair dry. She had a faint inkling it would be a complete mess by the end of whatever Widow had planned. Widow herself was sitting, prim and proper, on the edge of her mattress, hugging her knees and spine straight. Sombra felt her mouth water. 

Focus, god dammit, she thought. Her hair was dripping on the floor and on her loose shirt. 

“Why?” Widow asked. 

“Because we’re fucking for the second time,” she said, simply, “This means that whatever this is ventured beyond an one night stand.”

“We had sex earlier today,” Widow said, dryly. 

“If you left without breakfast and came back that counts as a second time,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “First rule is, no meddling in each others personal lives.”

“I had no previous interest to do so.”

“Great,” Sombra said, wryly. “Second rule is, stop means stop. If you don’t like something I’m doing you tell me. This doesn’t end when we’re having sex. If I act in a way you don’t like, I’d like you to tell me.”

“You always act in a way I don’t like,” Widow said, offhandedly, ”Like you are too smart for your own good.”

“And yet look who has knocked on my door demanding to be fucked?” Sombra quipped, glad her brain was finally catching up to the bizarre situation at hand. “You got what I meant. Last rule is. Well.”

“Spill.”

“Last rule is about feelings, but I’m not sure that even applies to you,” Sombra said, sheepishly. Widow remained impassive, but her nostrils flared almost imperceptibly - Sombra wondered how fucked would she be if she offended the Assassin even without meaning to. “But, just to be safe, feelings. If feelings come into play, this is over. We good?”

“Agreed,” Widow said, flatly, “So. Sex?”

“Jesus Christ I will never  _ ever _ get used to this,” Sombra mumbled, suddenly hyper-aware of her own body. This wasn’t her first rodeo, far from it, but there was something to be said about having sex with Widowmaker of all people - maybe the edge of danger. Or else. She paused.

“What?”

“Wondering what I’m gonna do with you,” she said, vaguely, kneeling in front of her and delicately pushing her torso towards the mattress. “You just stay there and go with the flow.”

“This is not how most of my sexual encounters go,” Widow said, but complied, laying back in bed as if waiting for a doctor’s appointment.

“Well this is how it went yesterday and I don’t remember you complaining,” Sombra said - Widow’s breath hitched. “Relax, corazón, I ain’t crazy to hurt you. Unless you ask for it.”

“Shut up,” Widow said, but averted her eyes. Sombra smirked besides herself, untying the knot of her coat as if unwrapping an intricate gift - she was only wearing a loose shirt and leggings under it. It wasn’t as much to get warm as it was to hide the blue-toned skin away from curious eyes, she knew, but that didn’t stop her stomach to drop to her feet upon seeing Widow’s body on the mattress, waiting. Always waiting. She was a master of wait, if anything, because she always waited the right moment to strike - Sombra wondered what had happened that made her so unwilling to wait for the next opportunity to get under the sheets with her.

Whatever. She had more pressing matters to attend. 

“Help me get this off,” she said, lowly, as Widow held herself up by her elbows, muscles flexing. Sombra licked her lower lip, anticipating, slowly working her fingers up under her shirt. She was cold to touch, that much she figured - she wondered if her touch burned her in any ways. 

“It doesn’t,” Widow answered - she realized she had said it out loud. Well. “It’s- It’s not bad.”

“Not bad, this is exactly what I wanna hear from the people I’m fucking,” Sombra said, wryly, but pulling the tank top off-

To reveal the most hideously neon pink sports bra that was ever sewn together. 

Sombra couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled up her throat - not even when Widow glared at her. This was so unlike the woman she could barely keep it together, and she lowered her head towards her exposed stomach, twitching as she tried to contain her giggle. 

“ _ What?” _

“Did you- Did you fall inside your closet and came to see me?” Sombra said. “This is absolutely hideous-”

“Maybe I was in a hurry, Chérie,” she said, and pulled it off her head in one go - Sombra’s laughter instantly silenced. Her breasts, man. They were more than enough to make the staunchest Atheist say “praise the Lord”. 

She would know. She was an atheist alright. 

“You can’t just- flash people and hope your embarrassing moments will go unnoticed,” Sombra choked. 

“Well, watch me,” Widow said, taking her pants off in one fluid motion - Sombra keened. 

“ _ Mi madre Guadalupe, esa pendeja me va a matar _ ,” she whispered, throwing all her caution and constraint out of the window and pulling Widow in for a kiss. 

She was demanding, Sombra had figured it out as much; she was, however, very willing to fight back, running her hand up her nape and neck to grasp her ponytail and pull the hair tie keeping it together. Widow's hair fell down her back like a waterfall of night blue strands, and Sombra ran her fingers through them - and pulled. They both moaned loudly - Widow for the sudden pain, Sombra for how hot it was to have Widow pliant under her fingers, because as demanding as she was, there was no denying the Assassin became supple under her hands. She deepened the kiss, carefully running her thumbs over her exposed nipples, feeling them harden under her touch - Sombra gave her sternum a light push just to have her laying down on the mattress again, laying on top of her and pressing their torsos together tightly. 

“Aren't you something else, babe,” Sombra said, almost reverently as she lowered her mouth to the curve of her neck, tracing the outline of her collarbones with her tongue until her lips found a bare breast - she wrapped them around it carefully, ever-so-slightly running her tongue on the tip, until she felt Widow squirming under her touch. She held her still, holding her hips down on the mattress with her left hand as her right one found its way towards her folds, rubbing circles on the outside of her slick slit. 

The thing about Sombra, if she could say so herself, was that sex for her was far less about her own needs and more about her partner’s - she felt as if getting laid was not only something borne out of physiological needs, but also a moment to worship. She loved women, she cared about women, and making sure the women she brought to bed had plenty of fun and pleasure was yet another way to appreciate this marvellous thing called women. So when Widow moaned louder, the sound was oddly similar to a prayer, her long fingers holding her hair in a vice grip akin to a communion. Her sore scalp protested - Sombra paid it no mind, letting her index and middle finger find their way into her warmth, crooking upwards to hit that one sweet spot she knew it made her squirm. 

“ _ Merde, mon Dieu,” _ Widow hissed - Sombra let go of the nipple she had been teasing and lowered herself to her navel, spreading her legs open and letting her lips touch her folds. 

This is true religion, she thought, when Widowmaker, Assassin, Talon operative and cold-hearted bitch in general was arching off her the mattress as her tongue drew lazy circles around her clit, fingers still searching for that sweet spot that made her sing. She figured since Widow was desensitized to almost everything in life she’d have to be patient, and positioned herself comfortably as she took her sweet time coaxing the release out of Widow with her lips and fingers. She could feel it building, slowly coming together under the tightening of the muscles of her taut stomach. 

Sombra would be a liar if she didn’t say she drew that out for as long as she could, but that was maybe because she was only  _ human _ , and a lesbian human at that - fucking Widowmaker was one of those people you wish you could have from the first time you lay your eyes upon them. But there was no amount of daydreaming or night dreaming that could possibly prepare her for the release crashing upon Widow - the way her legs tensed up, neck arching backwards, loong fingers gripping her hair tightly as she bit her lower lip, trying to stop the moans from crawling up her mouth. 

A goddamn work of art. Sombra wasn’t one for museums but she figured if someone painted Widow having an orgasm that would better than fucking Monalisa or whatever. 

She sat on her heels, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and smirking. Always good to see a job well done, she thought as she saw Widow’s chest heaving, hands gripping the sheets tightly as she rode the last waves of her orgasm. She wondered if she could get Widow to go down on her as well when she spoke. 

“ _ Comment as-tu fais ça _ ?” she asked, breathless. 

“English, babe,” Sombra said, running her fingers up and down her trembling thighs. 

“How did you-” Widow dry-swallowed “How did you do that?”

“That what?”

“How did you make me come like that?” Widow said, raising up to her elbows. 

Sombra raised an eyebrow, feeling oddly satisfied. 

“Are you saying I gave you your hardest orgasm yet?” she said, smugly. 

“No,” Widow said, and paused, looking at Sombra intently. She sat up straighter, eyes digging holes on Sombra’s face. “Ever since I- joined. And received these modifications-” she looked at her hands - still very blue and very cold, “I couldn’t anymore. And I’ve  _ tried, _ ” she said, frustrated, “It’s the only way I can feel  _ anything. _ ”

_ “Madre de Diós, _ ” Sombra said, the magnitude of what had just happened hitting her like a thousand bricks. She knew Widowmaker wasn’t always Widowmaker - she had a life before. Sombra deliberately didn’t look into her history because she didn’t really want to know, but she had an inkling that whatever was done to her wasn’t exactly asked for, and to live for years trying to feel anything just to be closer to humanity, even if for a second, was such a sad life she felt her heart hurt.

“I’m-” She said, at lost for words. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know-”

“I don’t want your  _ pity, _ ” Widow spit, angrily. “I want to know how you did it.”

“I don’t really know,” Sombra said, sheepishly.

Widow groaned, rolling her eyes. They were silent for a moment, a sort of two-people mexican stand-off, when Sombra had an idea. 

“I could show you again, if you like,” she offered. “You know. For educational purposes.”

Widow nodded. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


“Gotcha!” Tracer said, both guns pointing straight to her head. She got cornered in the most stupid place in Numbani - the heat was scorching and her translocator was down, just her absolute fucking luck. 

“Whatever,” Sombra said, raising her hands as if surrendering and rolling her eyes, pointing out Widow camping out on a nearby window with her chin. “If I die, tell the world I have been fucking Widowmaker. Thoroughly.”

Tracer let her jaw drop, eyes widening for a split second - enough time for her translocator to whirr back to life and let her bypass the Overwatch agent, laughing as she let Tracer figuratively eat her dust. 

“You have to be fucking shitting me, Sombra!” Tracer yelled. Sombra was already far away -  leaning on the wall next to Widow, heaving from the run and wheezing a silent laughter. 

“Care to share with the team what about Tracer is so funny?” Reaper asked, dryly. 

“Dunno, Dad, lesbians be jealous I guess,” she cackled, and looked at Widow just in time to see a small smile twitching the corner of her lips. 

“Don’t call me Dad,” Reaper grunted. 

“Sure, Dad,” she said. 

He groaned. 

  
  
  
  


_ If I were you  _ _   
_ _ I’d come back to me again _ _   
_ _ Not even death will come around anymore _ _   
_ __ She knows you’re jealous

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This has been submitted as a part of the Femwatch After Dark zine! Sales are still open, check it out here: https://femwatchthezine.tumblr.com/


End file.
